Perfectibility faith is a crisis

To transform through help to ideal,
it's a song for saddening times
sung to the tune of never enough
and I swear this is the last cliché. 

Over-evaluative, that's just nature,
am I as right as I want to be;
that's a question that can only
end in a semicolon and the sound
of a tree in the forest.

Make perfect, my children!
So implies Zeus and the rest
to intrude on titanics
whose icebergs reveal
whatever the water line allows.

Call it a red line,
with squiggles,
and that's how we
get a war.

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